The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,107

bucket of water soon after birth, like an unwanted kitten, but since he was an Elder in that strict religious sect called the Strange Brethren, who believed in completely immersing a baby in a deep font of icy water at baptism, I expect he thought this would carry me off, without his assistance.

I was given the name of Elizabeth, though always known as Lizzie. Since our farm was situated some way outside the village, I had no playmates among the local children – indeed, I had little idea of play, for my father considered that the Devil would find occupation for idle hands, so that toil from dawn to dusk was the only way to avert this.

One of the main tenets of the Brethren’s faith seemed to be that all ills stemmed from the Daughters of Eve and thus her female descendants should be made to suffer for it in perpetuity.

Unlike my tall, strapping and red-haired siblings, I remained small and delicate, and my hair a dark chestnut colour. I had been so confidently expected to rid the world of my presence due to some illness before I reached my fifth birthday that I think it came as a surprise to everyone to find me still there. However, I survived and, being deemed fit for nothing else, almost as soon as I could walk was given charge of feeding the hens and collecting the eggs.

25

Relatively Speaking

The man who had walked into the rose garden with Wayne was not unhandsome, if you liked the elderly St John the Baptist look. As well as the head of a slightly mad prophet, he had a huge barrel of a torso and very short legs. He somehow reminded me of the Minotaur in the maze, possibly because there was something bullish about his stance as he drew closer and then stood, looking me over.

I took an involuntary step back, behind the frail barrier of the twisted rope.

‘Dunno why you wanted to see her, anyway, Dad,’ said Wayne, hovering at his elbow. ‘I know I said she looked kind of familiar, but foreign with it, so I’d have remembered her if I’d seen her before, wouldn’t I?’

‘You shut your mouth, boy,’ Saul Vane growled menacingly, like the teddy bear from hell. Wayne flinched, as if his father might actually smite him one, but Saul’s attention was now all on me and my throat went dry.

Could he possibly have even the faintest suspicion of my identity? But if not, why this interest in me?

I didn’t see how he could know and, though I knew him to be Mum’s older brother, I felt no sense of connection between us, any more than I did with Wayne. They were an alien species and it was hard to accept that my vibrant, clever and lovely mother was related to them.

Not, of course, that I was expecting instant rapport, after the way they had disowned Mum.

‘What’s your name, lass?’ Saul barked at me.

‘I told you, Dad, it’s Marnie—’ began Wayne.

‘Shut it,’ his father said succinctly and Wayne backed away.

‘It’s Marianne Ellwood, and you must be Wayne’s father, Saul Vane,’ I said, facing up to him. ‘People have told me about you.’

‘What they been saying?’ he snapped out.

‘That you breed the best pigs in the county,’ I said.

He gave me another long, cold, searching look from grey-blue eyes that were the same colour as mine, though without the dark-ringed iris. ‘That I do – and built the organic pig side of the farm up from nowt to what it is today.’

‘Brilliant,’ I said, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into my voice, but thinking it was all getting a bit too Cold Comfort Farm and any moment now, he’d tell me he’d been scranleting his mangelwurzels, or something.

‘Yes, pigs,’ he said, with a depth of meaning I couldn’t understand. ‘You’d best bear that in mind, if you were thinking of coming calling.’

Wayne was looking as baffled as I felt – and I still wasn’t sure if Saul was always like this, or really did have some suspicion about who I was, despite my being so dark and looking nothing like a Vane. He’d certainly had some reason for searching me out …

The crazy voice in my head chose this moment to start singing ‘There is nothing like a Vane’ to the tune of a song from an old musical.

‘Well, it’s been lovely chatting to you, but I must get back to work,’ I said, summoning a brisk smile and starting to turn